


Did it hurt?

by HerMelancholy (KissMySelfie)



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alex Danvers-centric, F/F, Kara Danvers - Freeform, Lena-centric, POV Second Person, Send a thanks to Kj-fresh for hearing me out through my madness, Torture, another half finished piece, nb!Alex, tw: torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-12
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-07-29 21:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16272848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMySelfie/pseuds/HerMelancholy
Summary: You know your mission. It’s one of the only things you know.You also know how to answer them. You know when to answer them. That’s not the most important. The most important is that you get the mission done. Failure is not an option. The mission is what you were made for, and before you can wonder if there ever was something else, they put you to sleep.OrWinterSoldier!Alex One-Shot set between The First Avenger and Winter Soldier(featuring BlackWidow!Lena)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: English is not my first language and all the russian you'll find can be credited to either Marvel movies or google translator.  
>  **TW: torture.**

**~~~~_Did it hurt?_ **

_**(when they broke all of your bones and made you into a weapon)** _

 

You know your mission. It’s one of the only things you know.

You also know how to answer them. You know _when_ to answer them. That’s not the most important. The most important is that you get the mission done. Failure is not an option. The mission is what you were made for, and before you can wonder if there ever was something else, they put you to sleep.

Sleep may not be the best term.

When you sleep, you are supposed to feel rested afterward. When they wake you up, you feel tired and uneven, like you’re being pulled from underwater (like they were holding your head under the water), except that there is no relieve in the air.

It’s hard waking up. It’s confusing. You remember you used to fight (there was a name that kept you fighting – it’s long gone just like your memories). After they put you on the chair, arms and legs chained, you know it won’t be long until everything feels calms again and the mission is the only thing that matters.

This time was just like any other times.

(Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. _Airplane_.)

"Доброе утро, Солдат," he says. ( _Goodmorning, soldier._ )

There is something different; you notice it as they tell you your mission. There are two women in the room. One is much older than the other. This one looks calms, pleased even. You can see from the corner of your eyes as she’s talking to some men. (You know better than to look at them directly). The younger woman looks disturbed – that look you’re more familiar with. There was something of fear in it.

"Я готов отвечать," you say. ( _Ready to comply._ )

This time your mission is an extraction. You can’t remember your last one. You just know that in all of your missions somebody ends up dead. You don’t hesitate to kill them. You don’t feel anything. It’s just the mission. It’s all that you are. They tell you where it is and how you’ll get it. And you do it. It's that simple. Then you go back to sleep.

“You will assist Miss Luthor,” they say. It’s clear that Miss Luthor is the younger woman. You look at her directly for the first time. Just for a couple seconds and you go back to your superior. You can’t tell if it’s a different one from the last time. It doesn’t matter. He says what he wants, and you obey.

 _I don’t give assistance_ , you say into your head. You work alone. That's how it's always been. You either kill them or keep them alive. You don't assist anybody.

"Да, сэр." ( _Yes, sir._ )

You know how they call you. You hear the men whispering around you and you hear your victims begging with their last breath. They call you призрак ( _ghost_ ). They call you демон ( _demon_ ).

They call you the зимний солдат( _winter soldier_ ).

This is the one you think fits you the most. You’re not a man. You’re not a woman. You’re a soldier. And you can only feel the cold. Inside and out. You are a cold soldier. You are the winter soldier.

But you’re not supposed to think.

You get dressed. The ~~clothes~~ uniform is the same as the last time. At least you think. Your memories are blurry. Still, they look the same. They lead you to the armory so you can pick your weapons. It’s the closest thing you get from feeling. It’s the only decision they let you make.

You know about weapons (it’s another thing you know). You know how they work, you know how they sound, and you know how to kill with them. You pick two guns and a pocketknife. They want a discreet mission, and while they are good at covering your tracks, they don’t like having to do it, and you won't displease them. It’s one of those things you have drilled so deep into your brain that no reason can reach it.

They walk you to transport. You think nothing of the weird machines they use to move you now. Each time you wake up more things are different. The guns are nicer. They soon learned that you don't need training with them. On your way there you cross paths with Miss Luthor.

She’s wearing a red dress. You can identify three hidden knives in 0.5s. She doesn't even look at you. Maybe the best thing she can do is stay out of your way.

* * *

 It’s just darkening when they drop you on the side of the road. You enter the propriety through the woods.

They don’t see you. In the night and under the cover of the trees you’re just another shadow.

They don’t see you enter the mansion.

* * *

Things don't go as planned. You make a mental note to tell them to send you alone next time, but before you can deal with it, your world turns upside down.

* * *

 You remember your name when her lips touch yours.

It’s the first time you remember it in years. Decades, maybe - you’re not sure. You don’t know many things, but now that you know one more, suddenly you’re not sure you know anything at all.

You’re not sure if you know your mission. You’re not sure if you were meant to be a weapon. You’re not sure you want to be one. And in the middle of the entire crisis you are sure of two things: your name ~~is~~ was Alex, and you’re sure you like the feel of Miss Luthor’s lips against yours.

The last few seconds start to come back to you. There was no time to hide. The safe was open, and you shouldn't be anywhere near it. You were barely able to process the way Miss Luthor pulled you against her, so you were pinning her against a wall, she threw your mask across the room before crashing your lips together.

(You don’t notice the moment she closed the safe. You don’t notice the moment she got the package.)

When you hear the sound of the door being opened - out of instinct and out of years of routine missions - your hand goes to your waist in search for the pocketknife. Miss Luthor holds your hand and put it on her waist while using her lips to part yours, and you feel her tongue against your tongue. You finally manage to reciprocate the kiss. There’s a vague memory of doing it before in your mind. The memory guides you through it.

“You can’t be here,” a voice suddenly says. You look up to see one of the securities, obviously annoyed, looking at them. Miss Luthor pulled away – for a long moment she stares at you, and you swear she saw your soul with that look. She smiled shyly and muttered excuse to the man while leading you out by the hand. _Keep your head down_ , she whispers.

* * *

 You don’t speak until you arrive at a hotel fifteen minutes away. It’s a small room, and it looks mostly empty. Most room keys are still in the panel, and you analyze your surroundings. It’s the only thing you can do without feeling you’re going crazy. Miss Luthor takes you by the hand again to lead you both to your room.

She closes the door as soon as you are inside.

You wonder if she’s going to tell on you. During those fifteen minutes, you had some time to get your thoughts in order and to find some more certainties.

  1. You know your name.
  2. You like the feeling of kissing Miss Luthor.
  3. She’s breathtaking. The most beautiful woman you ever remember seeing.
  4. She knows something is wrong with you.
  5. You’re not supposed to know your name.



There’s a lot missing, but you can feel it there. You wonder what they did to you. Your arm… did they take or just replaced it? There’s another name on the back of your head… It wants to come out, but there’s still a lot missing.

The woman sits beside you. You almost jump at the closeness. You don’t even remember sitting down. She looks at you like she did after that kiss, and it all clicks into place in that second.

“You remember, don’t you?” she asks. You nod. Your lips part, but your voice doesn’t show up. “I remember too.”

Your eyes look for hers. You are surprised. She waits, and you feel like she knows what you are feeling, and that idea brings lightness to your chest. You admire her because she’s beautiful, and not only in an aesthetical way, and you can’t know that from how little you know her, but you feel like that.

“I’m Alex,” you say hesitantly. It’s your name. It’s been so long since you used your name. It's been so long since you've remembered it. You can’t remember the last time you did. She smiles at you as if you just told her the greatest of news, and if you thought she was beautiful before, she’s absolutely stunning now.

“I’m Lena.”

“It’s confusing.”

“It’s okay.” She reaches for your hand.

You don’t feel like a weapon for the first time in a long time.

“I feel- You make me feel human,” you say.

You are closer than you thought, and you meet halfway into a kiss. It starts just a soft as your earlier one, but your hand slips to Lena’s neck guiding the kiss deeper, and Lena grips the fabric of your uniform, climbing onto your lap, your leg between hers.

You know you’re Alex, and although you’re not quite sure of what that means, you know you like the way Lena feels against you, and you know your body knows how to move with a woman on top of you.

Your hands grip her tights, her dress hiking up, and the feel of holding her skin awakes a hunger in you that you didn’t know you had. She gasps into your mouth at your firm touch, and it seems that your hunger is not one-sided. She holds your head, and you turn so that she’s laying on the bed.

Her pupils are dilated. You’ve seen it many times along the years, but it’s not because she’s afraid of you.

You’re not sure of many things. You don’t know who you are.

Here’s what you know:

  1. Your name is Alex.
  2. You like the feeling of kissing ~~Miss Luthor~~ Lena
  3. She’s breathtaking. The most beautiful woman you ever remember seeing.
  4. Her dress looks better on the floor. (Knives carefully discarded.)
  5. You might be addicted to the way Lena tastes.



 

* * *

 

It’s hours later when you slip from under the covers.

It’s cold, but you’re used to it. Funnily enough, you feel like you need it.

“Alex,” Lena calls you. She rolls closer to you and onto her stomach. The curtains are open, and it’s a cloudless night. Looking at Lena, you find it absurd how you never realized how beautiful the moonlight is, especially when it’s shining upon such a beautiful woman. Lena shifts and the hotel’s sheets slip from her body. You admire her skin with your eyes. You look at the marks you’ve left on her: one on her neck, another on the back of her shoulder, and another two on the inside of her tights (this one you can't see right now, but you know they are there; you planted them there with the precision of a sculptor).

You remember how she held onto you with each mark you sucked onto her skin. You believe it’s been just an hour (time is still confusing to you). Sometimes her nails would dig into your flesh, and the pain felt heavenly – you take a moment to understand how that’s possible –, and every time she’d call your name, be it as a plead, a gasp or a moan. You like hearing her say your name. It’s the first time in so long you hear it, and it’s affirming.

She’s said your name in so many different ways in a matter of hours as if to compensate for your nameless years. Your favorite is the way Lena says your name as her heat is squeezing your fingers, or while you have to hold her hips down while sucking onto her clit, and while she can barely keep her eyes open, and she grips onto your hair, or the sheets, or anything that she can reach as if it’s the only thing that keeps her from falling off a cliff. And finally – _finally_ – she lets out your name. Finally, she lets out _everything_.

You don’t know many things, but you know you just made love to Lena – several times.

Lena kneels behind you and holds you. It’s a hug - you can't remember the last time you've been hugged. You have to disarm your defense instincts. You can feel her breasts against your backs. You can feel the tip of her finger following the marks her nails carved onto your flesh. Her other arm is around your waist, with her hand on your stomach. It’s weird being touched in such a loving way. It’s weird being touched at all. The closest thing you came to being touched was occasional punches you took during missions or the moments between waking up and being put on the chair when they dragged you by the arms to sit you down on that goddamn chair.

It didn't compare to Lena's touch.

Lena’s touch is careful, and you don’t deserve it.

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. Your voice feels choked, and it sounds husky. You’ve barely spoken. You’re not used to the fact that you can speak. You don’t know what to say.

“Then don't. Let’s run,” Lena whispers against the skin of your neck. A chill runs through it. You turn your head to look at her. (She’s beautiful; your mind keeps repeating the same words, and you wonder how bad they fucked your head up).

You close the distance between you, and you kiss her softly. You wonder if it’s real because it feels so good and you can’t remember the last time you felt anything at all, let alone happiness. You let your lips part from hers, already missing the sound that your mouths make when meeting in the quietness of the night. She smiles at you. She really smiles. You try to mimic her expression – you’ve forgotten how to smile. You imagine it was a complete failure, but she still looks at you with loving eyes, like you are human and that’s all that you need.

You turn your whole body now to hold her by the waist and to make the position more comfortable for both of you. She rests her palm over your chest, you can feel your heartbeat pushing against it.

“Do we have time?” you ask.

“We’ll make time.”

You lie over the covers, kissing and touching everything you can. This time is different. When your hand slides between her legs, Lena uses the hand she has resting on your shoulder to push you down onto your backs. She climbs so she’s on the top of you and looking at there you are ashamed of every adjective you’ve used to describe Lena so far. She’s a goddess, and if she was to slit your throat and lead you to the eternal sleep, you’d thank her and still feel like you owe her.

As a goddess, she doesn’t need to ask you for permission, but with each knee next to one side of you, her eyes still ask for confirmation. At that moment you are not capable of denying her anything.

You nod. Her hands press onto your defines stomach, reading it like a language only known to her touch. She touches your scars; their origins are lost somewhere in the chaotic place that is your memory. She outlines them, and when you start to feel unsure, Lena bends down and kisses them. She starts with the ones on your lower stomach, kissing her way up. There no scars on your neck that you know of, but she still kissed it. It feels good. It feels better than you can rationally explain.

She reaches your jaw, and she stops with to look at you for just a second before joining your lips with hers. You part your lips as her tongue makes its presence known.

Lena’s hand travels downwards, stopping at the hem of your boxers. She pulls away from the kiss when she feels you go stiff. You nod, pulling her back into the kiss. You need it so much that if she denies you, she just might as well have mercy on you and end your life now.

Lena’s hand slips inside tentatively. Her mouth swallows your sounds when her cold hand touches your warmth. Time merge and loses its linearity.

You grip the covers, and you hold onto Lena. Reality seems to disappear as pleasure takes over. You say her name only one time as if it's a prayer. As if it’s the only thing capable of saving you.

It’s relieving. And it’s peaceful.

And you start drifting to sleep.

Lena lays over your chest, and with her weight over you, you think you won’t mind forgetting your name if you get to keep hers.

* * *

She wakes you up in the morning.

It’s not a dream.

* * *

You know your name, but you still feel awfully empty. It’s like living with an echo inside of you. You stare at the image in the mirror. Your face is familiar and a complete stranger at the same time. Not just your face, your body as well.

It’s filled with scars you don’t remember. Your own arm is not your anymore. It's made of metal and has a red star on it. You spent the first hours staring at it to come to the conclusion that although strange, it didn’t bother you. It only bothered you not to know what happened that made you need the prostatic arm.

Lena watches you from the bedroom.

It feels better with her. With the way she touches you, and the way she lets you touch her. It feels a bit less empty.

You’re Alex, but you are still trying to figure out what that means.

* * *

You remember another name. _Kara_. You test it out loud. _Kara_.

Your breath is just going back to normal, and Lena slips back under the covers and half on top of you. You’ve added some things to the list of things you know, like the fact that Lena likes falling asleep on top of you, like the fact that the feeling of her skin against yours soothes you.

“Who’s Kara?” Lena asks. Your thumb caresses her shoulder. The night is cloudy, and it’s a shame you can’t contemplate her under the moonlight.

“I don’t know,” you admit. It frustrates you how little you actually know. Lena is patient with you. Whatever they did to you, they did something similar to her too.

Erased her memories.

Toyed with her.

Made her a weapon.

(She's known for a while, now. You're not sure if you envy or if you feel for her. It was horrible not knowing, but you can't imagine knowing alone.)

“Lillian is not my mother,” she tells you. “She had blonde hair and brown eyes. I don’t know what happened to her."

It’s the first time you’ve seen her vulnerable after the first night you made love. It doesn’t matter how many times you had her under you, calling out your name (never begging), you don’t fool yourself: she’s more in control of the situation than you’re. It’s not easy for someone like Lena to be vulnerable and you feel like you should offer her the same. You look for something to give her – it’s hard when all your life is a question mark.

Your head is not the answer this time.

“I loved her,” you say feeling like there is a knot on your throat. “I loved Kara,” you feel the need to repeat her name. You fear you'll forget it. You might not have your memory back, but at least you have her name. It’s like seeing a flicker of light while walking in a lightless endless tunnel.

“Was she your girlfriend?”

“I don't know. She feels like much more than that.”

You wish you could give her more.

You wish you had more to give her.

You soon find out that getting your memories back isn’t a completely good thing. You remember that you love strawberries (and Lena buys the biggest box of strawberries she can find in the city) and you remember that your mother’s name ~~is~~ was Eliza. But you also remember all the blood you have in your hands. Guilty, innocent, it doesn’t matter as their blood is dripping from your fingers. Their faces don’t tell their sins, they only show a life that you took. You also remember ~~the torture~~ the programming, and that’s what wakes you up at night.

It’s a good thing that Lena is a light sleeper and has an impeccable training, or else she wouldn’t have survived your first nightmare. You woke up with your hands closing around her throat, and she had to almost knock you out to break free.

You are a monster. You look at your hands scared of them. Only one of them is actually yours. Maybe not even that one is yours.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she says, stroking your cheek. She’s trying to convince to go back to bed. You shake your head.

“I am."

* * *

You’ve noticed they’ve been after you for ten minutes now. It was clear they were after you. They were doing such a bad job at hiding it that you aren’t sure they are even trying. You are more worried about Lena. You were supposed to meet her a few blocks away, but you changed your route once you began to feel watched.

You refuse to bring her down with you, so your objective is to keep them occupied and neutralize them without bringing Lena into it.

You don’t count on her going after you.

You don’t count on the two of you taking men after men while you have no idea where the hell they are coming from, you just know you two move like a well-oiled machine- No. (Machines don't think. Machines don't feel. You know it. You've been a machine for too long.) You move like dancers. Dancers who’ve been dancing together all their lives.

In the end, you two end up in an abandoned warehouse with thirty - maybe more – fallen men around you, at least half of them dead.

“We have to get out of here. There are more coming,” Lena says moving past you.

Your chest is still heaving unevenly, and you refuse to follow her. You’ve been living in a bubble with Lena in the past days, it wasn’t like a fairy tale, but part of you actually thought you could have a life out of your past ( _Cadmus_ , Lena said it was named _Cadmus_ – you tried to imprint the name in your brain, somebody to blame for the monster you’ve become). You feel disappointed at yourself for letting the illusion get to you. It was just a matter of time until things went back to the way they were. You wouldn’t remember what freedom felt like again.

You wouldn’t remember _anything_.

What was the point of remembering, then?

“Alex,” she calls you.

“They’ll keep coming,” you tell her. You keep your eyes on the ground. “I’ll buy you some time.”

Her face shifts completely. It’s the first time you’ve seen it on her face: anger.

You take minutes arguing before she gets you to agree to go back to the hotel room. You haven’t changed your mind, but you won’t put Lena in danger. Not when she has risked so much for you. Too much for you. She didn’t need to stay. She didn’t need to take care of you – to put up with you -, but she did, and you can’t lose her. She’s all that you have.

You close the hotel’s door watching for any strange movement outside. There is none, so you turn only to feel a slap across your cheek.

You find yourself in shock. You’re used to being punched, kicked and even bitten, slaps are rare. Your recovered memory doesn’t bring any occasion when you were slapped.

“You think you have the right to give up? To throw these last days away as if they were some sort of holiday for you?” You don’t answer her. Your mind tells you that there’s not a right answer for any question Lena might throw at you. She pushes you. “Do you even care about me?” Another push. “What would _Kara_ think?”

This time when she’s about to push you, you take her hands and turn both of you around in such a way that you're pinning Lena against the door, your front pressed against her back. There’s another moment of shock during which neither of you moves trying to understand what happened. You know you fucked it up. That’s what happened.

Lena breaks free from your grip, and you barely manage to block all the punches and strikes she throws at you, but it’s with a kick she brings you down to your knees. You look at up thinking it’s over, but it’s not.

* * *

It’s the first fight you and Lena have. You wonder if that makes you officially a couple. You doubt it could be seen as an ordinary fight. It ends with four broken furniture, several bruises on both of you and only when you are both too tired to keep up. The problem is other now: you are both too aroused to stop.

You take her against a wall and over the wrecked table. Lena’s taste mixes with the flavor of your own blood. (Lena has a perfect right hook, and you hadn’t seen it coming).

She grips your hair hard and lets out the most animalistic sounds you’ve ever heard in the highs of passion. You don’t remember the times you’ve shared a bed with another woman, but you can’t imagine it being much better than making love with Lena. This time you are not making loving (and the first time you uttered those words, she climbed on top of you and called you old-fashioned, you didn’t take it as an offense with the smile she had on your lips. _What do you call it?_ You asked. _Fucking. Shagging. It can get more specific,_ and you find out you don’t mind being old fashioned).

You haven’t made it to the bed when there’s a knock on the door.

“Police, open up,” they call.

Your eyes go wide, and you’re tracing an escape route in case you need it. Lena touches your arm, and you turn to her to find her calm. You are barely presentable, but everything that matter is covered after Lena slips into a looser shirt she got for you. She takes you with her to the door where she opens it just enough for the cops to see you two and sill keep most of the mess you’ve made hidden.

You expect to find some Cadmus' agents, and although these are ordinary cops, you still put your arm around Lena protectively as if to tell them it is none of their business. Lena is none of their business. She relaxes against your touch and a pride rise on your chest for being able to hold a woman like Lena in such a way – you’ve been getting better at naming your feelings, and not assuming you are about to die when you feel an excruciating pain on your chest; Lena says that is called sadness.

You know Lena is not yours. She’s not the kind of woman anybody can have. If anything, she has you. Or she could have, but you are too damaged, you are too broken and complicated. She deserves something better. She deserves something other than a monster with some victim complex.

“Is there any problem, officers?” Lena asks in the most innocent tone.

“There were some noise complains about your room. Are you alright, ma’am?” They look at you from the corner of their eyes as if they know what you are. A monster. A thing.

“We were just having a silly argument. Alex saw reason, and we’ve made up - if you know what I mean.” Lena even manages to blush. Her acting skills are worth a stage, and you wonder if there’s anything she can’t do.

The officers trade a look and with a bit more of reassuring from Lena they leave. You tell them it won’t repeat itself, but they’ve made up their mind about you already. You don’t have the time to lock the door when Lena’s hands enter your pants, and you gasp. You lose balance, and your back hit the door just in time to keep you from falling.

She sets you on fire as if you were made to react to her touch. Wasn’t it a vulnerability you’d think it’s true.

She kisses your lips and bites your lower lip before letting go of it. She leans forward kissing you neck stopping over your ear, her hand moving inside your pants and you are not sure where to concentrate. It's too much. She's too much. And she's enough. She's everything.

“I hope you didn’t mean that,” she says against your ear.

You feel her grin against your ear.

* * *

“Is this just sex?” you ask her.

You’ve been fighting with the urge to ask her that for some hours now. You’ve been talking more these days. More importantly, you’ve been _feeling_ more. You feel less like a shadow now and more like a person (not quite like Alex yet, part of you fears you will never feel). A couple of days ago you wouldn’t care about the answer, a couple of days ago you could only feel hurt, now you feel too much. You feel comfort, warmth (and you know that’s not a feeling, but it feels like one). You’re sitting on the bed with your back turned to her. If she’s going to lie you don’t want to see her face.

“No,” she says so low that it’s hard to hear her even in the silence. “We can stop if you want.”

Maybe you took to long to answer, and she leaves the bed. You watch her put her clothes on and leave without saying anything else. She doesn’t even look at you. You don’t look at her either.

You don’t want to stop. You’re not sure if you can explain how alive you feel when she’s coming with your name on her lips, her with her taste in your mouth, or how she makes forgetting feel good for once, because you’re not forgetting the life you once had, you’re forgetting the blood that stained your hands and all the bones they broke to make you into a weapon.

You don’t think you can explain how human she makes you feel with her arm around you once the lust is gone.

You don’t tell any of that to her. You can’t. There aren’t enough words in you yet, and you don’t deserve nice things.

Lena just left, and you feel empty. Suddenly the emptiness is too much.

You make your way to the bathroom, the air feels heavy in your chest, and you turn the faucet. You stare at the running water of the shower. They used to torture you with it, shock you using it, waking you up between tortures with a bucket of cold water, and bathing you with high-pressure water and you could barely stand still. You can’t take a single bath on your own. That’s how bad they’ve scarred you.

You step inside not allowing yourself to think. You regret it straight away because the feeling of water in your skin paralyzes you and you wait for something bad to happen with your forehead resting against the shower’s glass. It’s cold, but it’s not cold enough to ground you.

Lena’s arms are.

But she’s not here. She’s left. You don’t blame here. You should’ve made her leave a long time ago. For her own safety.

You wait for the electrical charge. You wait for the pain. You wait for the blood and your own screams, but they don’t come. Instead, you find yourself turning to watch as the bathroom door opens and Lena is standing there. She’s fast to remove her clothes (and in some moments you wish she wasn’t).

You lift your head off the glass as she enters, your eyes following her as she steps closer to you, just out of the reach of the water.

“You don’t get to leave me.” Lena’s voice is harsh, and it leaves no room for denial. It’s a good thing you’re still good at taking orders. You are good at obeying. Lena steps closer. Your eyes fall to her lips. They are hypnotizing, but it’s not the time for that. “Turn around,” she says.

You do as she says, but not out of obedience or blind devotion. You trust her. You trust Lena more than you trust yourself. With head hands roaming through your body - soaping it, cleaning it - it feels good to have someone caring for you, not just using you.

The water mixed with the soup burn on your injuries. Lena kisses those places as if to compensate for the pain. It feels more intimate than ~~making lov~~ e fucking. You do the same for her once she’s done with you, registering every mark you’ve left on her body. For the first time in days, you’re ashamed of them.

* * *

It’s a bad day.

You haven’t had many days free, but those can be divided into good and bad days.

Today is a bad day.

On the bad days, you’re quiet. Your mind is too loud for you to find the right words and speak. Lena seems to understand your silence, and that makes it better.

You wake up next to Lena, and that is the best part of your days (maybe tied with being able to fall asleep next to her at night). She refuses to let you sleep on the floor, and you have a weak spot for her, and if she ever discovers it, you’re dammed. In these short moments that take place between waking up and facing reality, you can pretend that everything is normal. Today is different. Today the moment is shorter, and it’s gone before you even realize.

(Soon you’d wonder if you knew. You’d how had you known.)

You rolled, so you were lying onto your stomach and half on top of Lena. You are positioned just above her stomach kissing her there, being careful to capture every detail with your hands, with your eyes, and with your lips. Lena is running her fingers through your hair. She’s not getting anything out of your morning neediness, but she lets you continue your exploration as if she knows you need to capture her in your memory the best you can.

“If something happens-” you start saying. Your breath hits the skin of her belly. You’re praying, pleading, asking for whoever is listening to not let it be the last time you have this sight. For some reason, you don’t think you ever was much of a believer before. You raise your eyes to look at her. “If something happens… be safe.”

It’s the only thing you can ask her.

It’s the only thing that matters.

She sits up, and you rise to sit with her. You rest your forehead with Lena's. She traces the lines on your lips, and her eyes follow her fingers.

“If something happens, you fight,” she says. “Promise me you’ll fight.” Lena locks her fingers to your hair and pushes it just a bit. “Promise me on my name.”

You do. You promise. And you seal the promise with a kiss. You seal that promise with her name on your lips, making sure to not to forget it. She knows how much names mean to you. She listens as you try to recall all the names you’ve remembered so far. You have a list in your head. She helps you with it.

_Alex. Eliza. Jeremiah. Kara. Maggie. Lena. Lena. Lena._

* * *

You keep your promise to her.

You fight with everything you have – and you fight with everything you don’t have too. You still lose. You lose, and you keep fighting even as they are tying you onto a chair. They put something on your mouth, and before you can spit it out, you are biting into it as an electrical current runs through your body. It hurts. You haven’t forgotten it.

They do it three times without asking questions, without affirmations, just enjoying watching your pain. They have a taste for pain.

As the pain takes over you can feel reality slipping away. This is how it happens. A panic settles on your chest.

You can’t forget.

You can’t forget. 

_Alex. Eliza. Jeremiah. Kara. Maggie. Lena._

You don’t say it out loud. You refuse to give them any more than they’ve already taken. They turn the machine back on. This time it is longer. For a moment you are sure they are going to kill you, but death is too merciful, and it doesn’t come. It stops, and there is sweat dripping out of your forehead. You muscles hurt from the contractions and a man stops in front of you taking your gag off.

“Who are you?” he asks.

No. You can’t give them that. Not when they’ve taken everything from you.

You spit on his face with a smile on your lips. You don’t see the punch coming, only feel the blood on your mouth and the pain on the side of your face. You miss Lena’s punches already. They put the gag back on they pull the lever.

They won't make you forget.

_Alex. Eliza. Jeremiah. Kara. Maggie. Lena._

* * *

_Alex. Eliza. Kara. Maggie. Lena.  
_

You wait for the question, but instead, you hear the sounds of heels striking the floor. You are too tired to raise your head. You can only see the woman’s feet.

“I hope you haven’t damaged it too much. I still need it.”

(They call you an ‘it’. They keep you in a cage. They know you’re a monster. They know you’re a weapon.)

The voice is familiar. A woman. You can’t remember where you heard it. Or where you think you heard it. Time is out of your grasp again, and your memory is being broken, session by session. It’s hard enough to stick with what you know; you won’t try to remember anything else.

“It’s all yours, Dr. Luthor."

Luthor. _Lena_.

You contain your reaction as she walks closer to you. Lena’s mother. You can’t remember her name. You think Lena’s told you.

“I’ll keep this short. Give me the answer I want, and we’ll avoid unnecessary punishment,” she says. She’s lying. No punishment is unnecessary in their vision. You clench your fists. You have to keep fighting, you promised. You promised. “Where’s my daughter?”

You don’t answer. The gag is put back on, and it hurts a bit less when you think you are doing this for Lena. You are keeping her safe. It stops, and they take off your gag. You feel tired. Your eyes feel heavy, and maybe they closed for a bit too long because someone throws a bucket with cold water at you.

You breathe as if you’re drowning.

Where is my daughter?” the woman asks again. “Where is Lena?”

“She’s not your daughter,” you say.

The gag is back on and somehow this time they make it hurt more than ever.

* * *

You don’t know how long she stays. You don’t know if it’s been hours or days. They give you water forcedly and even the times in between torture are torturous. You keep waiting for some kind of attack.

Eventually, you break.

"Where's Lena?"

“I don’t know,” you say. You think you’re crying. Tears are mixed with the sweat. You can’t remember how you put up with it. “I don’t know.”

“I think she’s telling the truth,” someone says. The shock lasts longer, and this time it's only meant to hurt. You pass out after it. You guess Lena’s mother wasn’t pleased with your answer. You took satisfaction knowing that Lena was okay.

They put you to sleep.

* * *

 You wake up, and you still remember.

At least you think you do.

And they start the torture all over again. You fight.

_Alex. Eliza. Kara. Lena._

“Who are you?”

You shake your head.

They put the gag back on.

* * *

“Who are you?”

“Alex,” you break again. “I’m Alex.”

You keep chatting the names in your head. You think something is missing.

_Alex. Kara. Lena._

Your answer is wrong.

* * *

_Lena. Lena. Lena._

Pain. Muscles contracting. It hurts so much.

How long it’s been? You don’t know. You think you were asleep again. You don’t know that too.

You promised you’d fight. But whom did you promise to?

“Who are you?”

You look up with confusion in your eyes.

* * *

“Who are you?”

“No one.”

* * *

 (Longing. Rusted. Seventeen. Daybreak. Furnace. Nine. Benign. Homecoming. One. _Airplane_.)

 "Доброе утро, Солдат." ( _Goodmorning, soldier._ )


	2. Did it hurt?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re eighteen when you discover that not all ghosts are made up.  
> You’re eighteen when you see the Winter Soldier.
> 
> You heard stories about them. You never thought they were true.
> 
> Looking at them strapped onto that chair being activated (and that’s the word they use, and it makes a chill run down your spine) you know every single story you heard about them is true.
> 
> ===
> 
> Or in which I'm weak and here's the continuation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation as some of you asked.
> 
> Warnings!  
> Spoiler for the big Marvel movies!  
> This chapter is told from Lena's POV.  
> Also, I forgot to tag last chapter: Nonbinary!Alex (and with that note please please let me know if I got any pronouns wrong).
> 
> ===
> 
> Still don't know Russian, everything is credited to google.

**Did it hurt?**

**(when they messed with your mind and made you incapable of loving)**

 

 

You are eleven when you remember.

Your hand slips from the rope and you fall.

You hit your head.

You don’t notice right away – ~~they don’t notice it until it’s too late~~.

* * *

You remember the stories your mama told you about witches. The ones who would eat children when they misbehaved and the ones who would steal kids away from their mothers. You don’t believe in it anymore, but you still wonder ~~if your mother~~ if Lillian is a witch.

She doesn’t look like a witch, but she stole you from your mother just like the witches in the tales.

You watch her from the doorstep. You’re not allowed to enter her office. You’re not allowed to bother her while she’s working. This time she is the one who called you.

You fear she knows.

That she _knows_ that you _know_. That you remember.

You are scared. And you are confused. You don’t know how to feel about her.

Part of you just wants to run into her arms and tell her what’s wrong.

Part of you just wants to scream at her and ask for answers. Ask where your mama is.

You don’t know how to feel about Lillian anymore. Lillian is not sweet or naturally caring, yet you loved Lillian. You loved Lillian because she is your mother. She isn’t your mother, but she has been.

(You think about your mama. You can’t even remember her name. You remember she had golden hair and a kind smile. She used to sing to you, and it was just you and her.)

You wonder if Lillian loves you.

(Your mama did. She’d tuck you into bed every night and say she loved you right before kissing your forehead.)

Lillian looks up from her desk to where you are standing.

“Come here, Lena,” Lillian calls you. Her voice is as cold as always. You enter with hesitant steps stopping by her desk. She takes off her glasses and turns to you. “I’ve been told you took quite a fall today.” She says you need to improve your English, so she never speaks in Russian with you. (You’re the first of your class, but that’s not good enough for her).

You shrug.

“Use your words.” Lillian’s torn is harsh. You’re used to it too.

“It was nothing, mother.”

She looks at you as if she’s examining you.

“Maybe we should call a doctor just to be sure.” You shake your head. Your heart is racing. You can’t have they knowing. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you Lena?”

“Of course, mother.” She smiles.

“That’s my good girl,” Lillian says stroking your cheek. You feel your body being filled with a warm feeling and you can’t deny you love her. Deep down you love her, and maybe that’s part of a witch’s spell.

It doesn’t matter.

You love her. You love Lillian even if you hate her for taking you away from your mama.

It doesn’t make sense, but neither does the comfort her touch on your cheek brings you.

* * *

You’re seventeen when they lead you to the red room.

There’s a man strapped to a chair in front of you. No. Not a man. A boy. He can’t be much older than you, and he’s visibly terrified. It only gets worse when a man comes with a silver tray covered by a red sheet. He stops next to you and removes the covering to reveal a gun. It’s a Glock.

Lillian is standing beside you. Her presence makes you nervous. Her presence makes everything feel _heavy_.

You can’t disappoint her.

You can’t disappoint Cadmus.

It’s been years since you’ve known she’s not your mother, and you still love her. You still think of her as your mother. Or some version of it.

You raise the gun pointing it at the boy.

You had heard about the red room. You knew this day was coming. The girls talked. Well, gossiped. And every Black Widow went through it. You were just the first of your class – and that only puts more weight onto your shoulders.

The gun feels heavier than it actually is on your hand, and pulling the trigger while aiming at a piece of paper is not the same thing as pulling the trigger while aiming at _him_. You don’t know him. He probably has a family. Friends. Someone who loves him. Someone who will miss him-

You still shoot.

It’s one single shot, and Lillian’s lips deform into a smile.

You don’t look at ~~the boy~~ the body anymore, and you put the gun back in the tray.

Lillian cups your face.

She has an ‘I told you so’ expression. You are just one more of her triumphs. And the ‘I’m proud of you’ she whispers against your hair – the one you wished for so long - feels hollow now.

* * *

You’re eighteen when you discover that not all ghosts are made up.

You’re eighteen when you see the Winter Soldier.

You heard stories about _them_. You never thought they were true.

Looking at them strapped onto that chair being _activated_ (and that’s the word they use, and it makes a chill run down your spine) you know every single story you heard about them is true.

They look at you up and down.

They didn’t scare you exactly, but the emptiness in their eyes did.

* * *

Once you part from the kiss the emptiness in their eyes is gone. Not only that, but you know that expression on their face.

You had the same expression seven years ago.

“I’m Alex,” they tell you. You smile. You never realized how alone you felt until that moment.

“I’m Lena.”

* * *

You fall in love at some moment. It’s stupid, but you don’t have control over it – you don’t _want_ to have control over it.

* * *

Cadmus taught you many things, but mostly and mainly they thought you how to survive. The loss doesn’t matter. The pain doesn’t matter. And you miss Alex, but again that doesn’t matter. You know how to survive although anything that happens. Even in loneliness.

You didn’t expect to miss Alex so much.

~~You didn’t expect to care about Alex so much.~~

~~They never taught you _that._~~

You hope they taught Alex how to survive too.

* * *

There is a woman watching you for some time now. She stands like an American. She stands like a threat.

You turn back to the man you’ve been dancing for long enough for your feet to hate you. He’s a bad dancer, and he’s old enough to be your father. He’s also foolish enough to think he’s the one seducing you with crappy compliments and fancy clothes (it’s not his fault, you’re just that good). He spins you around in a move he probably finds charming. It’s not. It’s clumsy and annoying and out of shape.

He’s a horrible dancer, and that alone makes you want to kill him. Unfortunately, the part is necessary. So you play your part, and you laugh. You laugh in such a way it makes you seem young and innocent – both things that were robbed from you.

You look back, and you can’t find the woman.

You turn back to the man; he knows nothing. You can’t wait for this night to be over, but for that to happen, he needs to be the one to invite you over. You try to make that happen as fast as you can. You’re about to fake a yawn when you see _her_ behind him.

Your smile drops as she pokes him.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if I could have a dance with the lady,” the woman asks. You were right: _American_.

The man hesitates. It’s not a usual request, and he looks completely lost. He looks even dumber than before looking at her as if he didn’t understand her request. The woman stands confident, more confident than most women, with her hands on her pockets and smelling cigar. She is attractive - you can’t deny this. But most women are; the fact that most men can’t see beyond that is what makes them so stupid. Thankfully, you’re not a man.

It would be easy to say no. You could act shy and say you’re tired and he’d probably take you ‘home’. But you are so tired of his presence that you turn to him and open a smile.

“Just a dance,” you say. He opens a smile saying something like ‘of course’, and lets go of you. The woman takes his place, and she actually knows how to hold you, and once he’s far enough, she starts leading you two on the dance. You let your face relax, and your smile fades into seriousness. “What are you doing?”

“I thought you could use a break. If you didn’t plan on killing him before, after that dance, I wouldn’t blame you.” She’s a good dancer. Good enough that she leads you naturally and you move on automatic, without worrying about your moves or hers.

You look around. The man is watching you from a corner, sipping on his recently acquired drink. Other men are watching as well, out of curiosity. It’s not usual for women to dance together and certainly not the way you are dancing. Seriously. Closely. You can imagine where their mind is going, but none of that is happening tonight – or any time soon.

(You tried it once several weeks before. The girl was nice, but she was too nervous. You couldn’t do it. And even if she wasn’t in doubt, Alex tends to appear on your mind on moments like this, killing any need you may have with guilt.)

“You’re attracting attention to us,” you tell her.

“You’re attracting enough attention, with that dress alone, you can’t blame it on me.” Her voice is playful and careless, and it’s annoying – not the same kind annoying as the men, but still _annoying_.

You try to focus on dancing. You missed it. It’s the only thing you miss from Cadmus. Back then it was the only thing that made you feel free. While you were dancing, you weren’t a _black widow_. You weren’t a _Luthor_. You weren’t an orphan. You were just Lena.

(You haven’t felt like Lena since Alex.)

“What’s your name?” she asks you.

“Tess Mercer.”

“Your real name. I’m Sam, by the way.” You wonder if she really thinks it will work. It’s a bit charming - you won’t deny that - but you won’t fall for that. The last person you told your name to was Alex, and you weren’t planning on telling anybody else.

You’re done with getting attached to people. You lost your mother. You lost everything you thought it was true. Then you lost Alex.

You lost Alex, and that’s the one that hurts you the most because you could’ve saved her. Or at least you think so if you hadn’t been so scared of being caught, and that’s on them. That’s Cadmus’ fault. They made you into a weapon. More than that, they made you into a survivor, and that’s what makes you different from Alex. They never taught her how to survive. They thought her how to kill. How to be a shadow. They taught you how to lie. How to deceive. How to make people see what they want to see. They taught you how to kill without someone ever knowing it was you. And they taught you how to disappear and how to run.

And that’s exactly what you did as soon as you felt you were at risk.

You ran.

You left.

And now it feels like it is too late to fight.

“Alright, if that’s how you want to play,” Sam says, her mouth close to her ear. “Here’s what I know: three nights ago an Argentine investor was killed in Milan. Money and a few credit cars robbed. No traces to follow. Two weeks ago a millionaire Portuguese was killed in his beach house in Lisboa, money and some other possessions were taken. I can tell you at least three other cases just like that. Want to know what they also had in common?” You don’t answer. Sam lowers you until you’re both close to the ground. Your eyes locked with hers. “Raven-haired girl. Red lipstick. Young. Beautiful.”

“If you think that accusing a girl of murder in a form of flirting it, you might want to rethink your tactics.” Sam brings you back into a standing position, but you aren’t dancing anymore. You pull away from her. “Now, if you excuse me, I have someplace else to be.”

“I can’t let you do that.” You really want to punch that confidence out of her. “You see if I do that I’m pretty sure that guy over there won’t see the sun rising again.”

“Why do you care?”

“About him? I truly don’t. If he hasn’t asked your age by now, it probably means he’s hoping you’re younger than eighteen, which is just disgusting. He’s a piece of shit, but the problem is that the Portuguese guy? I was after him, and it annoys me to lose a good job. And I have a strange feeling about you.”

“I can give you a painful feeling to remember me by if that’s what you want. I’m sorry for your guy; it was nothing personal. But I’m sure you can find another, now if you’ll excuse me-“ Sam holds your arm.

You fight your instinct to fight back. (The memory of Alex taking you against a wall comes back at that moment. You push that away. You don’t need the guilt right now.) You settle for glaring at her.

“God, you’re stubborn,” Sam says and lets you go. “I don’t think you want to do that. I don’t think this is the kind of life you want, okay? I can help with that.”

“You’re wrong.”

* * *

 Sam is right, and she’s annoying enough to convince you to come back with her.

 “I work for an organization that might be interested in someone with your skills,” she tells you. You go stiff. You _worked_ for an organization that _was_ interested in your skills. That didn’t turn out so good for you. “It’s up to you, really.”

You don’t quite trust her yet, but apparently, she trusts you because Sam introduces you to her family: her wife Julia and their child, Ruby. You’re pretty sure Julia is her impulse control, and it’s easy to notice how they balance each other, just from watching them for a couple of days.

 Julia gives you space, and she makes Sam do the same. They let you sleep in the barn – they wanted you to take the couch, but you don’t trust them enough for that.

* * *

You join the DEO and Sam got a smug smirk on her face.

* * *

It’s two months into working with Kara that you find out for sure she’s _Alex’s_ Kara. You had your suspicions, but you were always too afraid to look. It’s not always easy to look at her now. You keep thinking of Alex. You think several times about telling her about Alex, but when you try to think of what to say, none of it sounds right.

What would you tell her? That Alex’s alive? Or that at least they were years ago? Would you tell Kara that you loved Alex? (You couldn’t, not when you never said it to Alex.) Would you tell Kara you let them take Alex? That you were too scared to go after them, that you were a coward not too? Would you tell her you tried to look for them? Would you tell her that you found Alex only to realize you _lost_ Alex? You lost their mind to Cadmus because you didn’t fight enough?

Would you tell her you cried for Alex?

Would you tell Kara that is your biggest regret?

You still ask J’onn for Alex’ file because if something bothered Alex was not knowing. They hated not knowing, and something in you hopes it is enough if you know for them.

 _Alexandra Danvers_ , it reads.

You opened it. Army’s picture and file. _Parents: Jeremiah and Eliza Danvers_. You didn’t care about most of her medical file. She was in perfect condition back 1944. Differently from Kara Alex entered the army disguised as a man.

Presumed dead when the plane she was in fell somewhere in USSR. You wish you had a way of telling Alex all the things you know about them now.

* * *

Kara catches the sight of you on the reflection, and you let her pull you into an empty room. She takes off her “disguise” and questions you about J’onn’s drive. You don’t give her all the answers. You don’t have them – _that_ was the same about Cadmus and the DEO.

And then you finally reach _it_.

“What do you know about them?” Kara asks. You can’t lie this time and say you’re not intimidated. Kara’s always acted like a puppy, high morals and all. She wasn’t threatening when you knew she wouldn’t hurt a fly, but at that moment you’re not sure what changed, but the look she has in her eyes scares you. Or maybe this whole situation scares you, and Kara’s question wasn’t an easy one.

What do you know about them?

A lot and nothing at all.

You know their name is Alex. You know their hands are scarred and callused, and yet you have never been touched with a more gentle touch than when Alex you were with Alex. You know the taste of their name on your lips as you are slipping into sleep – and as you were fucked into oblivion. You know their softness, and you know their harshness. You know their taste. They smell. The way their hair looks in the morning and how it feels with your fingers tangled on it.

You know the way they say your name. You know about the nightmares that haunt them. You know they think they are a monster - they told you how they looked at their hands as if it was stained with blood. You know Alex is not a monster. Cadmus tried to turn Alex into one, but with the way Alex looked at you you knew they didn’t succeed.

You know they love strawberries (they probably don’t remember it now).

But that’s not what Kara is asking.

All the Soviet files you could put your hand on were redacted over and over again to a point it was a page filled with black marks. You know a bit about Alex, but very little about the Winter Soldier.

You can’t give her anything helpful.

(And it hurts you because of ~~how in love with Alex you still are~~ how much you care about Alex.)

There’s one thing you should tell Kara: that the Winter Soldier is Alex. Kara’s _Alex_.

With Kara eyes asking for an answer, you don’t tell her that.

Here’s what you tell her: “Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe they exist, the ones who do call them the Winter Soldier. They’re credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years.”

You don’t tell her the Winter Soldier is Alex. You don’t tell Kara that the Winter Soldier is _her_ Alex because it won’t do any good. It won’t do Kara any good look at those eyes and expect anything else than emptiness. It won’t do Kara any good to have hope, and Kara was all about hope, and if it hurts you seeing Alex like that, then it will destroy Kara. And it’s useless. Whatever they have done to Alex, they’re gone now.

You don’t think you can get them back and if you try the disappointment might kill you.

“It’s a ghost story,” Kara says. Distrust is clear in her voice. It hurts – too much hurts lately -, but it’s no surprise.

You remember the time when you thought it was a ghost story. You remember how you rolled your eyes when it got dark, and the girls started telling stories of this soldier that moves like a shadow and kill like the winter, slowly and merciless. You didn’t believe them. And they were wrong. And maybe not. But the truth is that you know very little about the winter soldier.

Here’s what you know: “Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa.”

The scene plays out in your head: _There are two agents on the front, the engineer is in the middle of the back seat of the car, you by one side, another agent on the other. The first tire that is shot. You don’t hear it, but you feel it, and everything in your body screams that things are going to get bad. The car doesn’t stop. You think your driver has been hit. The only thing you know for sure is that you’re speeding out of control, and the car turns upside down and finally stops._

“We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but-“

_The door is jammed, but the glass is damaged enough that it’s easy to break and get out of the car. You don’t know about the other agents, whether they are dead or just knocked out, you just check on the engineer. You check on his pulse and wake him up and pull him out. You then turn and there they are. Alex. You think you said their name ~~as you stood between Alex and the engineer~~ as you stood between the Winter Soldier and its target._

“The Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so they shot him straight through me.”

You show Kara your scar. It’s just one of the many, but this one reminds you why you can’t love. It reminds you of ~~your mother’s~~ of Lillian’s words. Love makes you a fool.

You skipped the part when your eyes locked with Alex’s and how for just a fraction of a second you smiled because you had been searching for Alex for so long and to find them now just when you stopped felt good. And the feel of the bullet going through your skin and into the engineer feels more like a stab on the heart. You looked for Alex’ eyes again, and there was nothing in them. No hurt, no love, just emptiness.

“Going after them is a dead end. I know. I've tried.” You give Kara the drive. “As you said, it’s a ghost story.”

“Well, let's find out what the ghost wants.”

* * *

“Was I your first kiss since 1945?” You ask Kara as she does her best not to kill you while driving. She’s an awful driver.

“That bad, huh?”

* * *

DEO. Cadmus. Same thing. New name. Old Lies.

* * *

Lucy opens the door to you.

Lucy Lane. You’ve researched about her since you saw her being friendly with Kara back in the park. And by being friendly, you mean flirting. Kara didn’t notice. Lucy could be holding a sign saying ‘I want you to fuck me’ and Kara still wouldn’t notice, she’d be too lost staring at those eyes.

Lucy is easy on the eye you won’t deny that.

You hope that if you all get out from this one alive, Kara gets a chance to explore what it could mean.

* * *

You run into the Winter Soldier again.

You hate the emptiness in those eyes.

They shot you, and Kara jumps in to help you.

The mask comes off.

“Alex?” Kara’s guard is down.

“Who the hell is Alex?”

* * *

 “Did you know?” Kara asks.

Your face gave it away. You don’t try to deny it. You don’t try to lie because Kara is pissed enough already – and while you don’t truly care that she’s pissed, you care about Alex, and Alex cared about Kara (and you kind of care about Kara too, even if she has too much of a hero complex – even if she’s looking at you like everyone does: like you’re the enemy).

You don’t regret not telling her, but she won’t understand it now. She hasn’t been through what you’ve been through. She still has hope. She has no idea what they’ve done to Alex. You only have an idea.

It was years of torture.

It was years under forced sleep.

And they touched you like none of it mattered. And you loved them because none of it mattered.

Kara crossed her arms, and her face was a mix of anger and pain.

“What did you expect me to say? ‘Your best friend is alive and is being used like Cadmus’ weapon for nearly eighty years?’” The irony is thick on your voice. You are hurt too. Because it hurt to see Alex knowing you couldn’t save them – and there was always a voice in your head saying you didn’t try enough.

“You should have said something!” She’s not wrong.

You look at those eyes. You don’t owe Kara anything. At least, you don’t owe her your past. But you owe Alex – because you’ll always owe Alex; they used to say you saved them, but they saved you even if Alex couldn’t see it.

“I care about Alex. I’m not sure if that ever changed, but they’re not there anymore, Kara.”

Kara shakes her head. She doesn’t believe you.

You wish you could save her from disappointment.

* * *

“What was she like?” Kara asks you on a late night. You end up doing lots of late nights with Kara. It’s nice. It’s calm.

“Alex?” Of course, you are talking about Alex. “Alex is not the same person you remember from 1945. They are not the Winter Soldier either. They fall somewhere in between.”

“They?”

“Yeah.”

Considering everything, Kara adapted easily into that side of the 21 century.

“We were neighbors. She hated me- They hated me at first, but for some reason, Alex started defending me from bullies, and we became inseparable after that. I used to sneak into their bed in the middle of the night through the window and after my mom died the Danvers took me in. Alex was always tough, the strongest person I knew. When they joined the army I knew, I wanted to do the same.”

You smile. You wish you had gotten to know Alex back then. But then again you wish you didn’t. You didn’t deserve that version of them.

“Alex was a romantic. And a goddamn charming bastard.”

Kara is the one who laughs this time. “That seems like a good description of Alex.”

“We used to live of minor thefts. We never stole much, just enough, and we didn’t kill. We were trying to stay away from that kind of life. It was a simple life, but it was better than anything I could have hoped for. My mother- I was never enough for my mother, even if I was the best. I never felt like I was enough, until- Alex.”

“You fell in love with them.”

“Not right away. At first, it was just sex and understanding. And we just fell into domesticity and then I didn’t want to let them go. I was taught to weaponize anything. A spoon. A chair. Friendship. Attraction. Love. With Alex, I understood why love was such a dangerous emotion. Why my mother feared it so much. It can destroy you far too easily.”

* * *

You hand Kara the file. You’ve gone after her once, and Kara has the right to do the same – even if it comes to the same results. She opens it, and you swallow thickly at the photo of Alex. You wish you had Kara’s hope. You wish you had her optimistic. And after the fall in which she swears it was Alex that saved her, nothing would stop Kara.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” You shake your head. You wish Kara’s eyes didn’t ask for anything more, but it comes with her. She worries. And she cares – and she cares too much to her own good, but then that’s why she wears that crest.

“I’ve chased after ghosts for too long,” you tell Kara. You also can’t risk getting your heart broken again.

“Lena,” Kara calls you when you already have your back turned to her. “Back in the war days, Alex never missed one shot.” You stare at her trying to understand why of that information. “She missed you.”

You blink. Once. Twice.

No.

You can’t do it again.

* * *

 Germany happens.

You’re not sure if you sided with the right side. You’re not sure if there is a right side in this situation.

And it’s not that you don’t want to believe Alex is there – seeing them in that glass cage, it was _your_ Alex in there, you just aren’t sure of how long that will last.

* * *

Kara sends you an address. You’ve been staying with Sam again. And you totally have not been teaching Ruby things that you shouldn’t. And of course, you’re teaching the baby Russian.

“You are going, aren’t you?” Sam asks before you can say anything.

Truly, it was no decision.

Kara meets you there. If you had any doubt, she solves it with a single phrase.

“Alex remembers you.”

* * *

It’s awkward at first, and it’s worse with Lucy and Kara around.

* * *

The first time you kiss them is on a stormy night. The lights are out, and it’s cold. Alex jumps at every lightning. It hurts you to see them in pain.

You look at the extra blankets by the chair, and you think about embracing Alex with them, but they are too soft. When you are used to roughness, softness can be a torture. Instead, you decide to climb onto their bed and on their lap. Alex’s hands go to your waist out of instinct, and yours go to her neck. You look at that deep set of brown eyes. You missed them.

At that moment it feels like no time has passed for you two. You feel like you’re eighteen again. You feel _in love_ again.

And you kiss them.

Why the hell did you wait so long to kiss them again?

* * *

“How long has it been?” Alex asks with you on top of them. You like hearing their heartbeat. They are looking at the door. Kara and Lucy have been gone for a while now, you know they are worried.

“Ten years.”

They look down at you.

“You look just as beautiful as I remember. More beautiful than I remember.”

You smile. You lean so you can hover close to Alex’s lips. “Hmm, flattery will get you everywhere.”

* * *

 “I fought,” Alex says. “Like you asked. I fought, but it wasn’t enough. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Tears are running down their face, and the only thing you can do is hold them against your chest. There’s so much pain there.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You did well.” You try to calm Alex down. Their sobs continue until they fall asleep.

* * *

The four of you always rent a room with two beds at each hotel you stop by, but you only use one. You never stay longer than a night, and never come before the sun is setting. Alex watches you from the car, wearing a cap to keep their face hidden and a coat even though it’s literal hell outside, but they have to cover their arm.

You don’t remember them being this protective. You kind of like it.

It frustrates Alex because most of the time they can’t do anything about it. They can’t punch the guys that flirt with you, or drive away the girls. It makes them restless, and it makes you moan louder in the bedroom when Alex gets it out of their system in the best way possible.

(You don’t tell Alex, but sometimes you do it on purpose.)

(They don’t mean anything to you.)

You have to share the space with Kara and Lucy so it’s not as often as either of you would’ve liked. You’ve already over damaged Kara from that one time she arrived earlier than you expected, so you have to pick the time carefully and if anything breaks the mood for Alex is Lucy.

Most of the night two of you are out. It’s usually Kara with either you or Lucy. Alex doesn’t like to go out anymore. Not like that, at least. Not to do _that_. You’re no longer heroes, you’re vigilantes. Doing the right thing in the wrong way, because it’s better to do that than to do nothing.

It keeps you all sane as you’re running from the government and Cadmus.

Somebody always stays behind with Alex, ignoring their protests that they can take care of themselves. You don’t doubt they can, however after all Alex’s been through (after all _you’ve_ been through), it doesn’t feel right to leave them alone, which is mostly how the four of you always end up sharing the same bed.

Usually, when you go out with Lucy, you find Kara and Alex snoring while some movie is playing on the screen. Most of the time, you find Kara spooning Alex.

( _I knew Alex was a sub,_ Lucy says to you.)

On the rare nights in which Lucy stays, they find Alex snoring on the ground while Lucy is sleeping on her stomach in a star position. Kara lifts Alex and puts them on the bed, and after fixing Lucy a bit – because for someone so small she sure could take a lot of space – you and Kara slip into the covers. On a quite particular time they found they both on bed snoring, and Lucy’s hand on Alex’s butt.

(None of you ask about it.)

When you stay with Alex, as weird as it seems, you don’t always have sex.

The four of you always rent a room with two beds at each hotel you stop by, but you only use one.

It’s terribly domestic.

* * *

If you ever had a doubt if your mother ever tortured Alex, it’s soon answered when Alex wakes up screaming one night and goes pale once they see your face.

“You can’t be here,” Alex says jumping to the farthest corner of the room. You are all up already. “She will know. She can’t know. No. Get out. Get out. Get out.” Alex hits their fists against her head with an aggressively that scares you.

“It’s okay, Alex, you’re safe. You’re safe now,” Kara tries.

“It’s not real. It’s not real. Just leave me alone!” Alex screams

* * *

It takes almost a full hour to Kara calm Alex down.

You had to leave the room or else they wouldn’t stop hitting themselves. Lucy comes with you to keep you from going back inside. When things calm down. You find Kara holding Alex like her life depends on it.

* * *

“Maybe I should leave,” you tell Alex on the next morning.

“Because of me?” They look so utterly heartbroken. “I’m sorry for last night. Sometimes I forget that was the past. It’s okay if you want to leave. I understand.”

You don’t.

* * *

You trace the pattern of where Alex’s skin meets the metal. The skin looks burnt, melted. You wonder if they poured the metal still liquid on their skin. You can imagine Alex screaming in agony. Alex says they’re a monster, but the real monsters are the ones who did this to them

You kiss the skin there, and Alex looks down at you.

“Does it hurt?” you ask them.

Alex shakes her head.

* * *

“This one is new,” you say lying between Alex’s legs. You trace the scarred tissue on their thigh. It was deep. Rough edge. Whatever it was, it wasn’t sharp enough. And it was a defensive wound. And it must have hurt like hell.

“Is it?” Alex asks.

“Don’t you remember how you got it?”

“I remember most of them, but not in order. Memories are still confusing. Sometimes I can’t even tell if some of them are real. Sometimes I remember the pain. It’s easy to remember the pain. Sometimes I remember the lack of it. I can’t feel anything on that leg.”

You poke the leg, testing it. They look at you amusedly and shake their head.

“Nothing.”

“So you can’t feel this?” you ask and you dig your nails into the skin of their thigh, dragging it so it leaves red marks on their skin. It’s pure muscle, and you like the way it feels under your touch. Alex shakes their head, but their attention is much more serious now as if noticing the shift in your intentions. “Not even this?”

You kiss Alex’s thigh slow and softly. You regret wasting all of your lipstick on their neck. And you bite them, going for the side of Alex’s thigh. There’s a shift in Alex’s position, and you look up to see Alex gripping the pillow and looking down on you.

You love the effect you have on them.

“You don’t feel me, yet you react as if you did,” you taunt Alex, moving close to their boxer with each kiss. You know they like it. They once told you that only you could make torture feel so pleasurable.

“Лена,” Alex says.

You love hearing them say your name like this. Desperate. Needy. Yours. You don’t get to hear it very often from Alex. They are still quiet, although not as quiet as they were ten years ago.

Kara helps them with it.

You remember the first time Alex told you about Kara. They were right, she meant a lot to Alex. You can’t compare to what they mean to one another. And you don’t. You know better than that. Besides, you are pretty sure Kara can’t get Alex to sound like that.

You crawl until you’re just above their stomachs. It flexes in anticipation as you toy with the hem of their boxers. You pull it down just enough to show their hips, and you kiss it. You tease Alex while doing so, going in that pace that drives them completely mad.

And you pull away.

You smirk leaving the bed.

But you don’t get to leave the bed.

They pull you back by the waist, and your backs hit the bed with Alex over you. You turn you both of you so now you’re the one over Alex.

“Do I have to tie you up?” Alex shakes their head hastily. And you move your hips riding her stomach. Their hands go to your tight, but you slap them away. “No touching.” They obey gripping the sheets. A grin spreads across your face. “Good Soldier.”

Alex’s eyes almost close. You dig your nails on their skin. You don’t them there yet. Not yet. You intend to find out how long you can make this night last.

* * *

“I remember going to see a circus. You had a red dress on and the most beautiful smile on your face. Was that real?” You nod.

“It was a week before they took you. You were outraged by the fact that you hadn’t taken me out on a date yet.”

“Was it a good date?”

“We didn’t wait to get the hotel, so I’d say it was.” It was the best date.

“Can I take you one another one?”

You smirk leaning closer to her lips. “Well, you have to work for it Sergeant Danvers.” You pull away and push them back to bed.

* * *

 

Somedays Alex wakes up without knowing their name. Some days it’s your name she can’t recall; some days it’s Kara’s or Lucy’s, some days they can’t remember _anything_.

You take almost half an hour to calm them down, and the memories start to come back. It didn’t use to be so bad last time. It makes your blood boil knowing it was Cadmus that did that. The three of you help Alex picking up the pieces. Funnily enough, Lucy is the one who better knows how to deal with Alex when they’re like that.

“PTSD,” Lucy says. “Among other things. You know what they say, you may leave the war, but the war never leaves you.”

There’s some tiredness in Alex’ eyes that never quite fades, no matter how much they sleep. Alex says it’s from all the wrong they’ve done.

You don’t understand completely: you were raised to see no wrong in the atrocities you committed. You were raised to _make_ atrocities. Alex wasn’t. Neither was Kara. And although everything, her hope remained. You wonder how.

You don’t understand Alex’s pain, but it doesn’t mean you can’t be there for them.

You hold them when they want, and you give them space when they need.

You try to kiss away the tiredness in their eyes and Alex gives you a soft smile. Everything is not perfect, but it is enough.

It’s enough until it isn’t.

* * *

You are the only one to protest when they suggest it. Immediately Alex looks at you with their pain filled eyes as if they know how you are feeling. They don’t know how you’re feeling or else they wouldn’t be leaving. Everybody leaves. Everybody is taken from you - first your mother, then Alex, recently Sam (or not, the concept of retirement is apparently foreign to her), and now Alex again. It isn’t sadness you’re feeling. You are feeling angry because you just got her back. _It isn’t fair_.

They follow you to the rooftop.

“It’s not fair,” you say. You don’t look at them. You know how they look right now. Puppy eyes. The kind-of-big-but-comfortable-clothes that Alex likes to wear. Those lips that you want to kiss even when you’re mad at them. And you are weak for Alex. So awfully weak. Betray-a-country-for-her weak.

“It’s not.”

Alex knows it more than everybody. It’s not fair that they lost their arm. It’s not fair they were turned into a weapon without any sort of consent – and maybe that’s what makes them so different to Kara. It’s not fair that they lost most of their memories. It’s not fair that remembering means headaches. It’s not fair that remembering means a smile on Alex’s face, but it can also mean waking up in the middle of the night screaming from a torture-dream.

They say you understand Alex – better than the others. You never had the courage to tell them that you didn’t. They brainwashed you, but you were never electrocuted until you forgotten everything. They never put in the ice to use you as they pleased. You still had your name. You still had fear, anger, and happiness – as occasional as it was. It might not sound like much to Kara or Lucy, but to Alex, it might sound like everything.

Maybe your greatest problem is that you are too good of a liar. Good enough that the vantages of the lie outweigh the risks.

You feel them standing beside you with just enough distance between you two, and you close it. It’s something Alex’s still getting used to. People. Living with people. Touching people. You helped. Or you tried. They’re still hesitant whenever it isn’t you.

Kara and Lucy had a point.

It was best for Alex to go. It was best for Alex to go somewhere they could be helped. What good does it do to them to go from place to place as a runaway? Alex deserves more.

They move behind you embracing your waist. The view of the city is better than you’d expect from a cheap hotel on the side of the road, but it’s still a cheap hotel on the side of the road. With Alex’s arms around your waist, it doesn’t matter.

“No kissing girls there,” you tell them. You can feel their smile against your hair. You smile too. How can you not when you’re probably grasping onto your last moments with Alex for a while. You hope it won’t be too long, but it has already been too long. Ten years too long.

“No kissing anybody here,” they say back. The teasing is warm in their voice.

“I make you no promises.”

“I’ll tell Kara to take care of anybody who steps ten feet from you.” Empty threats. You like how Alex is full of them. Like how they threats to throw Kara’s shield away if she doesn’t give Alex the last potsticker – Kara doesn’t, and Alex never follows through. Or how they threaten to shave Lucy’s head almost every day – Alex says it in Russian, and Lucy is this close of googling it, but the fact still stands that Lucy’s hair remains flawless as usual.

You appreciate the moment a little longer with Alex.

“Kara and Lucy have a mission tonight,” Alex whispers against your ear. They use their hand to move your hair away from your neck, and Alex kisses the skin there. They’re soft with the kisses. They make your skin shiver in contact with the cool of the night. “They left fifteen minutes ago.”

You turn to them, advancing until Alex has their back against a wall. “When were you going to tell me that? We’ve wasted too much time.”

They kiss you, and for a moment you let them lead, but it’s still too soft. It’s not what you want. It’s not what you _need_.

Most of the opportunities you had to be alone, you’ve been soft. Too much time had passed for you, and too much had been _lost_ for Alex, so you needed to know each other again, and you were impressed at how different it was. You were different. So were them. And being together it was different. No better, or worse. Just different. And after you’ve become acquainted with each other, the softness was because of too thin walls and not enough time. It was because you couldn’t risk having the police at your door – again – when you were undercover.

Right now you don’t care.

You need _more_.

You need _rough_.

You need to feel your nails digging in their skin, and their fingers marked on yours. You want their marks on you so you can have it when they’re no longer here. So you take over the kiss, just long enough until they get the message, and they pull away asking for consent. With your hands around their neck, you put your legs around their waist, and Alex lifts you by your thighs.

“Take me,” you tell them.

You are not the one to give up control. Kara jokes that you are just a few years away of being able to control the weather – and you wish it was true, because how inconvenient the weather can be. But tonight you do. You willingly give up control for what is – possibly – the first time in your life.

You’re not sure when you made it into the bedroom.

You’re not sure when your clothes ended up on the floor.

Here’s what you are sure of:

Looking up at Alex standing bare above you, hair falling on their face, and desire in their eyes, you know there’s no one else you’d like to give up control to.

(You don’t care about the scream you let out tonight. You don’t care about the grunts or the sound of the bed hitting the wall that makes only it feel like Alex’s fingers are hitting harder and deeper in you. You don’t care about anything tonight, only loving Alex and letting them love you.)

* * *

You pretend to be asleep as they slip out of the bed the next morning.

You’re not good with goodbyes. Alex collects their clothes and kisses your hair before leaving.

“Я люблю тебя,” they say against your hair. ( _I love you._ ) “Всей душой.” ( _With my whole soul.)_

You almost blow your cover. And at the same time, you’re glad you’re pretending to be asleep. You didn’t know how to react to that.

You hear the door closing before you can gather your thoughts in order.

You’re not sure how long it’s been since Alex left – and you know they’ve left for wherever Kara is taking her – when you reach for their pillow and bring it closer. You bury your face in it, at first looking for their warmth and then after Alex’ scent.

You miss them already.

“Я тебя люблю, тигр.“ _(I love you, tiger_ ).

* * *

Next time you see them, it’s almost two years later.

Next time you see them, it’s been too long.

Still, you let Kara have the first hug. You get the first kiss.

It happens just a couple minutes later when they’re all busy strategizing and explaining how the universe is at risk, blah, blah, blah…It’s not that you don’t care about it. You do – you happen to live in this universe. But the universe can wait 10 minutes to end. And you don’t want the universe to end without being able to feel Alex’s lips against yours once again, or the way your bodies move together, and feel their firm hold, and have that loving gaze directed at you.

You push Alex against the wall of the nearest empty entrance you find. Wakanda is more beautiful than Kara described – you don’t blame her, it’s not the kind of beauty you can put in words. And you can’t put into words how good Alex looks. Not that they changed much physically – they’re pretty much the same, hair a bit longer, less thin -, but everything else changed. They look happy. Happier. And healthier.

You hated being away from Alex, but at least something good came of it.

With their tongue exploring your mouth, you wish you had time for more. Maybe test these Wakanda’s beds, see if they are as good as they are out of here. Maybe you could tie Alex up, make them compensate for the two years you’ve missed them. Maybe you’ll do even better and let them tie you up. It was a thought that entertained you a lot during these past years.

Before you entertain the idea for long, the sound of steps has you jumping apart. Or at least it has Alex jumping away – you want to decapitate whoever is interrupting you. You both turn to where the sound of the steps is coming from to find a Dora Milaje awkwardly standing there.

Alex is blushing. You’ve forgotten how shy they could be.

You wait until the guard is gone and the whole time Alex is looking at the ground. You watch the woman, and you don’t miss the way she looks at Alex.

“Having you been flirting with them?” you ask half serious to Alex.

Their eyes bulge, but a laugh interrupts you. “No, the only thing they could be flirting with are the goats, and Alex’s not very successful with that,” a girl in Wakadian clothes says.

You look at Alex and they look away. “Thanks, Shuri. You’re always so flattering”

* * *

You fight with everything you got, and it’s not enough.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

You have a whole nation fighting alongside you, alongside the most powerful humans (and non-humans) that exist, and it still feels like you’re losing.

You’re tired, but you can rest when you’re dead. You’re tired but if you stop you are dead.

You’re also worried.

You lost track of Kara somewhere along the fight. You lost track of Alex as well. You just saw Lucy flying above you, so you take the good news. And you continue fighting.

And you fight.

And you fight.

You fight until suddenly everything is _calm_.

A chill runs through your soul, and you can feel it in your bones that it’s not good news.

The aliens are gone, and you’re scared.

“Kara!” You start calling out. “Alex!”

You call their names, one after another, going where you believe you last saw them going. There’s a relieve in your chest when you see Kara.

It doesn’t last.

“Where’s Alex?” you ask her.

She doesn’t answer, and you follow her eyes. She’s looking forward, but her gaze is galaxies away.

You then realize what she’s looking at.

_Alex’s gun._

* * *

(You’re the good guys. You aren’t supposed to lose.)


End file.
